It is summer now.
An early, morning sun
has breakfasted on wisps of clouds.
I stand on the arch-backed, wooden bridge,
where, I see the long foliage of the willow,
trail in the water, like a hundred fishermen’s lines.

Below me,
fish glide by in these cool, fin-waving waters
and frogs feast on tongue-sticking flies.
A duck, spearheads her brood, followed
by the yellow dots, that frantically paddle
in a flotilla of fluff formation, as they head
for the safety of the camouflaging reeds.

See how the water picks up speed
as it dashes over the smooth, wet-headed, boulders.
Look how the emerald weeds, dance
to the tune of varying currents.

On the left bank,
the all-night angler, folds his chair
and pulls in his empty net.